


Broken Hearts

by cynatnite



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Spoilers, Angst, BAMF Clint Barton, Brainwashing, Canon Divergence - Post-Avengers (2012), Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Clint loves Phil, Clint on the run, M/M, Mental Torture, Phil Coulson Needs a Hug, Phil loves Clint, SHIELD falls, Season 2 spoilers, phlint - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-14
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2018-03-07 13:12:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,373
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3174608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cynatnite/pseuds/cynatnite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint has never recovered from Phil's death. When SHIELD falls and Clint is betrayed, he goes on the run and Hydra catches up to him. Phil is trying to hold his team together through their own loss while coping with his own heartbreak. His worst fears are realized when he comes face to face with Clint.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Took lots of liberties.

“Did you know that Moldova is the hardest partying country on the planet?”

“Barton,” came the sigh in his ear.

Clint grinned, shifted his knees to ease the ache from squatting for the past two hours. The assignment was to rescue a high valued informant in a country Clint had never been to before. It made perfect sense to research.

“Yeah, I know. I couldn’t believe it either. So, I looked it up. Sure enough, Moldova beat out Luxemburg by a long shot. More drunks in this country than sober people. I’d say we’ve got some catching up to do, sir. The good old USA didn’t even make the list.”

“Barton, can you please refrain from torturing the team with useless facts?”

Gillespie sounded exasperated already. _A new record_ , Clint thought with a smug smile. It usually took an average of three hours to break the handlers. Of course, not one of them had ever matched Coulson. Clint gripped his bow just a little tighter. Coulson usually had him biting back fits of giggles on missions when all there was to do, but wait. No, he wasn’t going to think about that now.

“I wouldn’t say useless, sir. Poker Trivia Pursuit night, you never know.”

“How is that a game?” Clint heard an agent ask.

Scanning the road from his perch in a tree, Clint eyed the passing vehicle and adjusted until his back was against the trunk. It helped relieve the soreness just a bit.

“Deck of cards, Trivia Pursuit game. Use the cards as chips. Costs fifty bucks to get a seat,” Clint explained. “Whoever wins the pot, gets to pose questions to the losers. The loser who answers the most correctly, pockets the cash. If you’re ever in a game with Sitwell, make sure he’s the one that wins the hands. He’ll walk away with the money every fucking time. The man has a bottomless pit of useless facts at his disposal.”

“That can’t be too hard,” came a female voice. Constance Stewart was her name. Clint liked her. She had a mean swing that nearly rivaled Natasha’s and her stitching up wounds should be a superpower.

“Sitwell’s also a badass poker player,” Clint pointed out. “He knows how to lose before you figure out how to make him win.”

“He is a Level Seven,” Gillespie interjected.

Clint nodded even though no one could see him. He was glad Gillespie was joining in on the discussion. When he saw the yellow van, Clint leaned forward maintaining his balance on the thick limb. He pulled out an arrow.

“Boys and girls, we’re in business. Coming up on the mark in thirty seconds.”

“Set,” Gillespie ordered.

Their informant was in back of the van with several bad guys. Last check had him alive and the modus operandi of this particular Russian gang was an isolated road in the countryside. They were stupid enough to use same map for their victims.

As soon as the van’s wheel found the mark, Clint released the arrow and watched in satisfaction as the automobile swerved and then pulled off to the side of the road. He jumped from the tree and sprinted across the field.

He yanked out his handgun and shot one bad guy who had caught sight of him. By the time he was at the van, the team of six had taken out the remainder and the informant was coming out of the back with his hands still cuffed.

“Alexei,” Clint said as he relieved the man of the handcuffs. “How many times did we tell you to stay away from Babushka’s?”

“Her peroshki is like Mama’s,” Alexei insisted. His eyes went to the SHIELD agents surrounding him, then leveled on Clint’s. “This only way to find you, oppo.”

‘Oppo’ was the word Clint had given Alexei at their first meeting four years ago. It meant for his ears only when he could trust no one else. Clint nodded.

Before he could say another word, Gillespie pulled out his revolver and shot Alexei in the head. Then another bullet went into Constance and her blood splattered on his cheek.

Without a second thought, he kicked out at the Gillespie, sending the weapon flying. The remaining three were reaching for theirs and Clint had his knife out slashing at the one closest to him sending him bleeding out from the neck.

He plowed another one football style as he wound around the van and then sped across the road as bullets whizzed past his head and landed near his feet. He nearly stumbled when a burning grazed his arm. Feeling the warm blood drain down his arm outlining the sharp shooting pain, Clint didn’t slow. With the cover of darkness, Clint was able to evade the nonstop gunfire and when it stopped he darted behind a large tree.

“Spread out,” Gillespie ordered. “He couldn’t have gotten far.”

Clint didn’t have time to think about the whys and wherefores. He stilled his breath and checked his arm. It wasn’t bad, but he was bleeding enough to leave a blood trail. Using his knife, he cut into the sleeve of his shirt, ripped it off and used it to stop the flow.

When that was finished, Clint dared a look around the tree. They were far enough that he could make a getaway, but the dark forest made it difficult to see where his feet would fall. One wrong step would be a beacon.

“Come on, Barton!” Gillespie yelled. “You had to know it was going to end like this! SHIELD is done for! Fury is dead!”

Clint nearly rolled his eyes. The asshole doesn’t know Fury very well, but he wasn’t going to say that. And SHIELD? What was that about?

Right now, it didn’t matter. Surviving was at the top of his to do list. They were getting closer.

_Fall back on what you know_. Clint could almost hear Phil’s voice in his ear. His dead handler could still calm his nerves and get him to think clearly.

From time to time, the circus would contract basic entertainment acts whenever there was an open spot. Old Amos Arnold was a retro act from the Rat Pack days of Vegas. He bragged once that he opened for Sammy Davis Jr. It was probably true, Clint had thought at the time. No one else could pull a ventriloquist routine like he could. He’d throw his voice around and have the audience in stitches. For almost two weeks straight, Old Amos had taught young Clint how to do it. How many years ago was that? He couldn’t remember. Hell, could he even do it now?

Clint closed his eyes.

Draw in as much breath as possible without making a sound. Raise tongue, pull it back to close the throat as much as possible. Pull stomach in, tighten diaphragm. Slowly exhale, release small groan, but keep quiet. The front row will hear it if you’re not careful. The two easiest words began with an ‘H’ sound.

“Help me! I’ve been shot!”

Clint froze.

“This way!” Gillespie shouted.

The footsteps began getting farther away and Clint let out a breath. He moved in the opposite direction, far enough away that he was sure he wouldn’t be found. When he came upon the tree of choice, he climbed until he was a good twenty feet off the ground.

“Useless my ass,” Clint muttered under his breath.

He relaxed against the trunk for a few moments. Constance was dead. She was a good agent who had just gotten married and was aiming to get out of the field. Her and Ted wanted a family.

Clint wiped his cheek. Her blood had dried already.

SHIELD was done for, Gillespie had said. Three other agents had turned on him. Why? Who were they working for? Was SHIELD compromised? How deep did it go?

He didn’t dare use the com or contact anyone at SHIELD. Hill? She could be a first rate dick, but Clint couldn’t imagine her turning on Fury. Sitwell? You never knew what that guy was thinking from one second to the next. His eyes were unreadable, but Coulson trusted him. That counted for something. Victoria Hand. Hard as nails and tough veneer, but she had a passion about SHIELD. He could trust her. Melinda May, Clint remembered. The Calvary. He’d worked with her a few times and she was too much like Natasha.

_Damn it_ , Clint inwardly cursed. Nat was still taking missions with Rogers. It was to help acclimate him to SHIELD and ease him into today’s world. Clint didn’t have the first clue where she was right now. Her last text said she’d be back in a few days. He missed her and their missions together so much that he had left a present in an empty weapon’s holster. She’d get the message loud and clear.

First thing first, bide his time until morning. Gillespie would hopefully think he’d gotten away. He and the rest of those bastards would wait for him to check in at SHIELD. Gillespie was a fucking Level Six and he could easily track Clint using SHIELD resources.

Taking deep breaths, Clint adjusted himself until he straddled the thick branch. He raised his shirt, took his knife out and palpated the soft flesh just to the right of his belly button. When Clint found the nodule, he grit his teeth and pushed the blade into the skin. It hurt like fuck, but he was able to force the small capsule shaped metal out.

There wasn’t much blood, but the pain was dizzying. He pressed his shirt against it and breathed deeply. Holding the tracker between his thumb and forefinger, Clint used the butt of the knife to crack it open and tear apart the insides until it was dead. He shoved the remains in his pocket.

With nothing else to do, Clint closed his eyes and allowed himself to rest.

~*~

Sunrise came four hours later. Clint climbed down to the ground. He set the quiver down, split it down the side to open it up and removed the strap. He was able to break down the bow enough to fit with the arrows. After sticking a knife in his boot, Clint put the revolver on top of the bow pieces and arrows. He wrapped them with the quiver and using the strap, he tied it together. To anyone else it looked like a bundle.

Clint started for the road sure and he knew he looked pretty damn homeless, which wasn’t a lie. He just had to get to a drop box. The only one SHIELD didn’t know about was in Patras, Greece. He only had about four identities he could burn through, but it would be enough to get him to Western Europe. In Marseille, he could get to another drop box, get more cash and fake ID’s. It would be enough time to reach those he trusted. Hill, May, and Hand.

Clint chuckled. They were all women. That didn’t bode well for his gender.

After walking several miles, an old farmer using oxen to pull a wagon offered Clint a ride. He didn’t have much of a grasp of the language. Clint was going to take Natasha’s lessons more seriously in the future.

The farmer barely had electricity from what Clint saw. He’d been invited for a meal and since it had been nearly twelve hours since his last one, he wasn’t about to turn it down. The old black and white TV sat on the top shelf. While he was handed a plate of food, the old farmer turned it on and grinned at Clint.

Before Clint had a chance to thank him, an image on the television got his attention. He slowly got to his feet as he saw a helicarrier slicing and tearing into the side of the Triskelion. It only took one word from the Russian news report to get the gist of what had happened. A sick feeling began building in Clint’s gut.

Hydra, all this time, had been the backbone of SHIELD. It had infiltrated the entire organization. Clint sat back down and a drink was set before him. He swallowed it down.

There was no one he could call now. Natasha, but where was she? Alone like him?

He and Natasha had emergency codes they could use on Twitter. It wasn’t the first time an agent had used a popular social network to get a message out. Only this time, he couldn’t trust it. Hell, he didn’t even have a phone with him. The old farmer and his family didn’t have the first clue. Even if they had one, Clint wasn’t about to put them in danger and there was no doubt he’d be found.

Clint stayed a week, working for the impoverished farmer and got a change of clothes in addition to food and a pallet on the floor of the kitchen.

It took three weeks to reach Greece. Clint wasn’t about to use public transportation if he could help it. Once he got to his drop box, he pocketed the fake ID’s and passports, and the twenty thousand cash. It wasn’t much money when it came to hiding from SHIELD…Hydra, he mentally corrected. He’d burn through it quick enough once he started bribing to get smuggled through the various borders. Marseille was still the destination. He needed that drop box and to get out of Europe as quietly and quickly as possible.


	2. Chapter 2

Clint finally hit dry land in New Orleans three months later. He had faked papers and ID’s to get a job on a freighter. Being the new guy, he was put in the bowels of the ship and set to work in the least desirable areas. He didn’t mind it so much. Clint was left alone to his thoughts while he worked.

During his off time, they had internet access on the older computers. That was when he got a fuller accounting of what happened to SHIELD. Fury was declared dead. Clint still doubted that story. Sitwell was really dead because his mangled body had been found on a highway.

Images of Steve Rogers fighting a silver-armed man had been snapped by observers. Clint knew of him. Natasha had called him the Winter Soldier. There was a sliver of fear in her eyes the first time she talked about him. It was the one and only time, she had shown a weakness. The encounter had been at the near cost of her life. It had also left her rattled which Clint had never witnessed in the years since he’d known her.

Leave it to Natasha to dump every bit of SHIELD and Hydra intelligence on the internet. If Hydra was going to be dragged into the light, SHELD had to as well. It was a good tactic given the weight of what had happened. He scoured the info dump and while Natasha had put herself at front and center, she had in essence made him a ghost. His name, social security number, birth certificate…everything was gone.

He was thankful for that much. Clint combed for more names of agents, but many of their identities had disappeared as well. Some would make it. Some wouldn’t.

No one would touch Natasha. By going public, she was the Eric Snowden of intelligent leaks, but she had eclipsed that guy by eons. As he read through the forums where agents were known to congregate anonymously, it soon became apparent that she was hated by some and heroic to others. Either way, she remained free, but with such a harsh spotlight on her, Clint didn’t dare approach. It was just too damn dangerous.

SHIELD agents were generally fair marksmen and looking back on his escape, they could have killed him. Gillespie wanted him alive. Clint was nearly certain. He had replayed the scene over and over wondering why he hadn’t seen the betrayal coming and why he wasn’t dead. No answers were coming.

Coulson had insisted him knowing SHIELD history during the early days of his training. Hydra was the big evil. It had hid among the Nazis, growing as time passed. The intent was take their place, but Red Skull was too eager to take out the one enemy that had a solid chance of beating them.

The information dump indicated the same thing, only they had used some algorithm to target those individuals who was a danger to Hydra. Seeing the names nearly had Clint reaching for the trash can. Tony Stark, Bruce Banner, Stephen Strange and thousands of others including the President of the United States were going to be killed. Captain America stopped them just in time.

Going to Stark Tower was out of the question and neither was contacting anyone else. For the first time since coming to SHIELD, Clint was alone.

This time was different. He had gotten used to having friends and some he’d even call family like Natasha and Phil. The three of them were the badass motherfuckers of SHIELD and everyone knew it. They had the highest success rate as a team in the history of SHIELD. There was a trust that went beyond friendship and even family. They had a shit ton of highs and lows with the lows having them holding onto each other the tightest and the highs when life was at its best.

Even more with Phil, than anyone else Clint had ever known, he found someone who got him. Hell, Phil had once told Fury that he and Natasha were the only ones who understood Clint-speak. One look in Phil’s eyes and Clint was incapable of lying. He could lie with the best of them, but Phil saw right through him and when he did that, Clint wanted to pull him right inside of himself.

He loved Natasha, but he was in love with Phil Coulson. It wasn’t like one of those horrid romances where love happened inside of two weeks. No, this took years of shared drinks, Clint trying to swipe Phil’s powdered donuts and getting caught, Phil taking him to his first honest to god Broadway show, trading shirts, going to restaurants and sharing their food with one another and the millions of other ways they lived out of each other’s pockets.

Then one day out of the blue, it happened. Clint and Phil kissed. It wasn’t after a bad mission or even a good one. It didn’t happen at SHIELD either. Clint had objectified Phil in his head at every opportunity, but he’d kept what he thought was a respectable distance. Phil wasn’t letting anything on either.

Of all the times for the first kiss to happen, it was when Clint asked to help him move a chair into his apartment. Well, okay, it wasn’t a chair. It was the cushiest comfiest ugliest recliner to have ever known to exist. Phil hated it on sight. There was no way to hide his look despite being the best agent to have ever walked through the corridors of SHIELD.

So, they carried the thing up three flights of stairs and most was spent barking out instructions, cursing, and Phil swearing the next time Clint wanted anything moved into his apartment that he would be fired on the spot. He was sure Phil’s head was going to explode when he realized the back could detach from the seat. Of course, it happened on the third floor.

Once inside, the recliner was set in all its ugliness in front of the obscenely large HDTV hanging on the wall. When Clint thanked Phil he was sure the swearing off of even moving a potted plant was coming. Instead, Phil walked over and kissed him like nobody’s business.

The first time they had sex was on the recliner. Well, they were halfway through when it flipped to its back and both men tumbled out. Clint busted out laughing rolling on the floor with his pants and underwear below his knees. Phil was actually fucking giggling of all things. That’s when it hit Clint at how much in love he was with Phil. He made it his mission in life to make Phil Coulson giggle at every opportunity. Of course, Phil forbade sex in the recliner and that Clint took as a challenge.

Then Loki fucked his brain. Clint refused to think about that anymore. Phil was dead and he’d spent the first six months getting his head rehashed with SHIELD shrinks and sleeping on average three hours of sleep a night.

Clint was kept off of SHIELD and Avenger missions alike until Natasha and Tony Stark badgered Fury into releasing him for duty. Getting back in the swing of things helped, but the first time he went back to his apartment, Clint looked at the fucking recliner and took it apart. He dumped the thing on the sidewalk, soaked it in lighter fluid and put a match to it.

He’d gotten arrested because it was kind of illegal in New York City. Fury personally came down to the jail, got the charges dropped and Clint was released. Clint was stunned when Nick Fury, Director of SHIELD, took him to his place. He still couldn’t remember what the one-eyed bastard had told him. All he knew was that he fell asleep on the couch and slept for fourteen hours straight.

The next day, Nick fixed him eggs, bacon and toast with strawberry jam, and poured a big glass of milk. Fury sat across from Clint and didn’t move until he ate every last bite and drained the glass. Natasha arrived and before Clint left, Nick Fury told him, “You’re gonna make it.”

Of course, Nick Fury just had to be right. Clint kinda wanted to hate him for that. As the days passed, he had good ones and bad ones. Sometimes he woke up with such an awful hurt in his chest that he was sure he was dying. Both his face and pillow would be wet. Then he’d get pissed at himself for having a good day. Natasha would give him playful slap on the back of the head. It got easier.

He’d never love anyone else, of course. There was no replacing or moving Phil Coulson out of his heart. He didn’t want it and he wouldn’t have it. Phil Coulson was a once-in-a-lifetime person. He didn’t give a shit what anyone thought. That’s who he was in love with and that’s how it would remain. It made it easier to go out on missions with SHIELD and the Avengers. That was when he could finally talk about Phil without coming apart. He could smile, too.

Clint finished off the gumbo in the practically desolate bar in New Orleans. He had two cold beers sitting in front of him and took his time drinking them. He had a plan. Staying in New Orleans wasn’t one of them. It was too big, too busy and too everything. The place was a magnet for SHIELD. The mutants roaming the city made sure of that. Clint had lost nearly five hundred bucks to a dark-eyed one in a reckless hand of poker.

He took that as his cue to get out of town.

~*~

In Amarillo, Clint rented a storage room the size of a closet. He paid it up for a year and stored his bow, arrows and the two handguns. He found a spot in the wall where he could hide $5,000 and the fake ID’s. Even if they got the guns, Clint could still break into it if necessary. Unfortunately, Clint only had about a grand left. To stay off grid, he’d have to find jobs willing to pay under the table. They weren’t common, but not impossible to find.

Clint stayed out of the big cities for obvious reasons. Small towns were out of the question. A stranger showing up could mean the kind of attention he didn’t want. Clint was still a ghost and if anyone ran a make on him, they’d only get suspicious at finding nothing. The next step would be a call to the state and the Feds wouldn’t be far behind.

Being from breadbasket country, Clint knew what farmers were about. He first got on with a harvester who traveled from Texas to the Northern Plains. They harvested wheat, hay and alfalfa from North Dakota until late August back in Texas.

Clint had earned some decent money, shot up to Eastern Montana where a bit of an oil boom was starting to take root. He got on with an oil rig team. The money was under the table, but the old bastard wrote checks and nothing Clint said would make him budge. He was going by the name Pete Jackson and had the ID’s to back him up, but there were cameras in Quick Cash. An old baseball cap and sunglasses was just enough, Clint hoped.

The toolpusher was a dick and took every opportunity to ride Clint. The man thought Clint was after his job. Clint was just a bit too competent, too intelligent and liked a little more than the toolpusher by the other hands. When Clint found his steel-toed boots destroyed, it was time to move on once again. Fighting the asshole was thick in his blood, but Clint knew better. It meant attention. He took his check, signed it over to the toolpusher for half it’s worth and left.

Being that he was once an Avenger, Clint’s picture had been taken a time or two. Once in a while, it’d appear on Twitter or some other social network. He had enough fuzz on his face and he wore clothes he found in thrift stores that made him unrecognizable. Clint dressed in loose fitting pants, worn out t-shirts and stained coats when it was too cold. Nobody paid attention to someone who looked just a little too close to indigent.

After catching a ride with a truck driver, Clint found himself in Enid, Oklahoma. It was as good as spot as any, not too small and not too big. A crappy hotel on the edge of town was cheap enough and across the highway was an isolated bar. Inside of two hours he had a room at the far end and a bartending job with the perk of a hamburger a night from the grill in the back. Clint could settle for at least a short time.

He’d been on the run for over nine months and he needed the break. Clint couldn’t do it forever. At some point, he’d have to find a way to contact Natasha without alerting Hydra. He was so fucking tired of running and being alone. Something had to give somewhere and Clint’s mind was close to getting there as it was.

Clint liked the bar. It was an antiquated place with worn out metal chairs and dulled red booths on the far side. It had one pool table in the back and even a spot for dominoes if one had the inclination. An old jukebox sat in the corner whose music hadn’t been changed since 1979. Ben, the proprietor, swore that was the last time country music was at its best.

Ben was the salt of the earth type. He was heading into his sixties, had two kids he was trying to put through college and this bar. When Ben would talk about his deceased wife, Clint thought of Phil. It was as close as he’d connected with anyone since the rug got ripped out from under him in Moldova. With Conway Twitty crooning from the jukebox, he and Ben would play dominoes after closing swapping stories, talking up the odd customer and life in general. Clint liked Ben.

He should have known not to get too comfortable, but Clint did. It was easy to do when you’re in a place you like. He showed up when the truck arrived with beer deliveries and helped move the heavy crates since Ben’s back pained him too much. Clint started doing repairs around the neglected place. He patched two holes in the roof, replaced the wobbly toilet in the bathroom and rewired the fuse box.

It was an odd mix of customers that came through the bar since it sat just off the highway. There were a couple of regular truck drivers who ran back and forth between Wichita and Oklahoma City. A farmer or two would congregate in the back since the coming winter meant less work. Of course, a group of college-aged kids would stumble in and one or two things happened. They’d see the quiet bar for boring and leave after a drink in hopes of finding something with blaring lights and music. It was the ones that decided to stay and party it up that caught Clint’s eye. It only happened a few times, but he’d get them out the door once they began to get too rowdy.

They’d have their quieter nights during the week. When it was after midnight they had one customer left who was nursing his last beer before heading out. Ben was at the register while Clint swept the floor and set chairs upside down on the tables.

The door came open and no one said a word at the sight of a very pregnant woman holding her stomach with a bag at her feet.

“Can I help you, miss?” Ben asked.

“My car,” she said. The young woman panted a little before speaking again. “It broke down.”

“I’ll look at it,” Clint offered.

“I need to get to the hospital.”

Clint leaned the broom against a table. “We can call an ambulance.”

“No, I’m not that close to having the baby. Can I get a ride?”

Ben grabbed the keys and tossed them at Clint. “Take the Mercury.”

Hospitals meant cameras and Clint nearly threw them back at Ben. He should’ve, but he didn’t.

“Is there anyone you want to call?” Clint asked.

“My husband’s stationed in Japan. I already called my mother. She’s driving in from Wichita. I told her I’d be at the hospital.”

“Okay,” Clint said. He picked up her bag and held the door open.

Not much was said on the way to the hospital. She didn’t make much noise when a contraction hit. The last time he’d been around a woman in labor was Italy. He was sure that woman was cursing men with every pain that hit with how loud she screamed in Italian.

They got to the hospital and when Clint opened the passenger door, he saw the wetness between her legs. Her water had broken on the way. He grabbed a wheelchair and helped her into it. A more intense pain hit and she grimaced. Clint had to admire her stoicism.

Once inside, he eyed two police officers at the front desk. Clint parked the chair nearby and a clerk came over.

“My water broke,” she told her.

“You can admit straight from OBGYN,” the clerk explained and then glanced at Clint. “Do you need help with your wife?”

“Uh…” Clint wished those cops would stop looking at him.

“He’s my transportation.”

“I’ll get an orderly to take you up.”

Clint shifted back and forth betraying his normally calm demeanor.

“You don’t have to stay,” she told him. “I’ll be okay.”

“Are you sure?” Clint wasn’t a big enough douche to leave her alone.

“It’s fine.” She smiled through a contraction. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, okay. Good luck.”

Clint turned around knowing that he was being recorded and those cops had likely committed his face to memory.


	3. Chapter 3

He didn’t leave. For three days he remained wary of every stranger that walked into the bar, eyed the door constantly and searched the familiar internet boards and other social media for any indications, but those had turned into wild conspiracy theories about anything and anyone even closely related to SHIELD. He’d become an expert on which ones to take seriously. He’d gotten so unnerved, that at one point he put a suspicious eye on Ben.

Clint breathed a little easier when they shared a bottle of wild turkey over a game of dominoes.

~*~

During his time at SHIELD, Clint had learned from Phil that the best way to always be prepared for the unexpected was to know himself. His own thinking could be his greatest enemy and for Clint it was. His trashy and abusive childhood, coupled with a drunken father who had killed both himself and his mother had set him on the path to worthlessness. The circus had given him the skills to be the best, but his self-esteem had taken as bad as a beating as the one his own brother had given him before being abandoned. When Phil Coulson found him, Clint was on a one-way street of self-destruction.

With a past put to rest, Clint could look forward. He didn’t have the muddled thinking and sordid emotion that pulled him down to get in the way of doing the job and being ready for whatever came at him. He became the good agent Phil had promised.

It had been months the last time Clint had picked up a gun. His fingers still itched for a bow, but he had put that thought away. He was beginning to see a life without the violence and death. When that happened, the muscle memory, tactical thinking, and reflexes began to ebb away. He had stopped looking for a shadow around every corner and quit searching for tells on the faces of the customers.

He should have known better than to allow it to start slipping away, but that was the last thing on his mind when he arrived at the bar. Clint unlocked the front door and went inside. He moved behind the bar and hung his coat on the hook.

“Ben,” Clint called out.

Clint went to the closet that Ben called an office. The computer was on and a cigarette had burned to the filter in the ashtray.

Still, Clint should have been more aware. He headed to the back past the grill and opened the door leading to the alley. His eyes went to Ben’s body lying on the cement. Before he could move, the door slammed into him temporarily stunning him.

He was roughly jerked away and Clint rolled onto the pavement. When a suit came at him, he swept his leg and took the man down. Clint kicked him in the face and two more were on him. The assassin and SHIELD instincts were back. He took them down quick enough and out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of several more making their way over. He was outnumbered and Clint fought like hell using every trick Natasha and Phil had thrown at him during their sparring sessions. At seeing two more hit the ground, Clint was starting to think he had a chance.

That ended when a pinch in his neck got his attention. He stopped long enough to pull out the dart.

“Fuck.”

Clint dropped to his knees, his vision clouding and his head throbbing heavy. When he fell forward, his eyes cleared enough to see Ben’s dead ones. Blood seeped from the bullet wound in his forehead. His friend was dead. He wanted to cry, but the tears refused to come. Clint closed his eyes instead.

~*~

Clint opened his eyes. The raging headache and spinning light above him forced them closed again. It almost felt like the hangover from the Budapest fuck-tastrophe. He stretched his neck to work out the tension and took another look. The light overhead wasn’t actually spinning this time.

He moved his hands and that was when he realized he was cuffed. The chain was about a foot long limiting his movement. Clint shifted and saw the shackles on his feet which gave him a few feet. He’d also been stripped down to a t-shirt and boxers.

Taking his time, Clint moved to sit on the edge of the bed. The metal around his ankles dug into the skin. Taking in his surroundings, it was as bad as he thought it was. A camera in the corner looking down on him, drab grey walls, the bed he was sitting on and a small toilet in the corner. Nothing else.

The door opened and two burley guards entered. Without the chains, they wouldn’t have been a match for Clint.

“These accommodations suck.”

Clint was pulled to his feet and a black woolen bag was put over his head. There was no choice but to shuffle along as they tugged on him. As he was guided with firm hands gripping his arms, Clint tried to navigate the trek with little success. They got onto an elevator and as it ascended, he moved his head back and forth as if he was actually looking at his captors.

“You assholes are about as much fun as Hydra on a rainy day,” Clint smarted off.

Silence.

“Your sense of humor’s worse than the CIA’s, as if that were possible.”

The elevator stopped and Clint was jerked along. He guessed they were walking through a corridor again. He heard the sound of double doors opening in front, pushed through, and they closed behind him.

Clint was shuffled further inside and then they stopped. One of the goons let go of him and he heard the sounds of metal, locks, and more unrecognizable sounds. Clint was moved backwards until he felt cold steel at his back. His breathing was starting to get uneven.

“Rumor has it that Hydra’s got the whole torture thing down to an art. Got any tips?”

The shackles on his wrists were released and both guards clamped them not far from his head. Then the ones at his feet were released. They got locked in place. Belts were strapped across his eyes and chest. It only got worse from there.

What was left of his clothing, was cut off until Clint was naked. The coldness was already unnerving him. He felt a stick in his arm and recognized the sensation of an IV being placed.

The bag was jerked off his head and one used his hand to push Clint’s head into place. He felt the screws being pushed into the front, back and sides of his head. He grit his teeth and bore the pain. Thankfully, the skin didn’t break from the pressure.

Breathing heavily, Clint kept his mouth shut as some sort of electrical nodes were placed near his eyes and at his temples. Then he saw the roll of tape. Forcing his eyelids upwards, the tape was stretched across his skin until he couldn’t blink.

“You motherfuckers!” Clint bit out.

Straight ahead was a black screen and a kaleidoscope of colors began forming. He could’ve lost himself in the circular bright rainbow lines as varying symmetrical patterns pulsed across Clint’s vision.

He heard the soft steps behind him.

“I’m gonna be real disappointed if there isn’t porn on this thing.”

It was just a hint of a laugh when the voice spoke.

“Clint Barton, former SHIELD agent. Mistakes are rare for an experienced one such as yourself, but inevitability and noble nature gave you away.”

“Lemme guess.” Clint’s eyes were hurting already. “You have ways of making me talk.” He grinned insanely to hide the building fear. “Yeah, that’s a classic.”

“You have no secrets to extract, Mr. Barton. They were all laid bare before the world when Hydra rose. You’ve not had contact with any of your cohorts since.”

“I’m already bored, Mr. Asshole. I hate monologuers.”

“It’s quite simple, Mr. Barton.”

The man moved in front of Clint. His nearly grey hair, thin face, thick-rimmed circled glasses made his smile all the more acidic.

“Hydra has need of your skills and I can assure you, we will use them to their fullest.”

A lab-coated man added a small IV bag to the larger one. Clint couldn’t see what he was doing with them, but he was sure some sort of medication would soon be fed into his veins.

The man stepped closer, placed his finger on his cheek and traced his jawline as if it were a touch of affection.

“Rest assured, Mr. Barton. You will comply.”

~*~

If anyone had warned Phil Coulson of the exhaustion he would feel after finally ridding himself of the crazed impulses to etch and draw into anything that stood in front of him, he would’ve parked a cot at his desk. It was a damn relief, too. He couldn’t remember the last time he had felt whole since his resurrection. Something had always been off. In the first few months, he was sure he was fine, but after taking on a new team and the stresses that came with it, he soon realized he wasn’t the same.

A knock at the door got his attention. Skye and Melinda came through and stood in front of his desk.

“I will get a full eight hours tonight,” Phil promised.

“Yes, you will,” Melinda stated as fact.

Phil didn’t doubt both her and Skye would be the guards. He considered hiding his cell phone from them.

“I found something.” Skye hugged the tablet close to her chest. “The owner of a bar in Oklahoma was murdered in an alley a week ago. It was a clean hit.”

“Why are you bringing me this to my attention?”

“An employee is suspected of robbing and killing him,” Melinda explained. “When his family offered a reward for information to find the killer, they were contacted by a woman who had seen him. He took her to the hospital when she was in labor.”

“Again, I ask…”

He stopped when Melinda nodded at Skye.

“This is the employee, sir.”

Phil took the tablet and at seeing the black and white image from the waiting room camera, he was on his feet.

“My god.”

He had to look twice, and then a third. Phil glanced at Skye and Melinda, then took a fourth.

“They think he did it?”

“The image hasn’t been released to the public, Phil.”

“The locals sent this to the feds along with a set of fingerprints from the bar,” Skye explained. “The guy is a ghost. The best as they can tell, he doesn’t exist.”

Phil had to sit back down and he breathed in Clint’s image. It had been so long.

“Natasha scrubbed him when she released the intelligence during SHIELD’s fall. The last Intel had him in Moldova. He must’ve got caught up in the chaos and went underground.”

“What do you want to do?” Melinda asked.

“Ready the quinjet. We have to get his image off the wires and make sure it’s not released to the public.”

“Phil,” Melinda began.

“We have to at least try and find him.” Phil looked to Skye. “Get online and check SHIELD known social media outlets. Leave one message.”

“What do you want it to say?”

“N. Period. H. Question mark. C.”

“A little obvious, don’t you think?” Melinda raised an eyebrow.

“To us it is. I have to take the chance.”

After they left, Phil leaned back in the chair and studied the image again. Clint wore an oversized coat, his face covered with a beard and he looked much thinner than the last time he saw him. Regret seized in Phil’s chest and he rubbed his chest with his fingers so hard he could feel the ridged scars.

Clint had always had Phil’s emotions raging from one end to the other since he’d known him. In the beginning, it was always about keeping a professional distance. Phil had it down to a fine art, but Clint, like the kid he could be sometimes, took a bright crayon to his life coloring over the edges.

How the sarcastic archer had managed to break through all of Phil’s finely tuned defenses over the years, he’d never know. The love had come upon him when he least expected it.

As much as Phil cared for Natasha, he needed gentle clarity. Before his ‘death’, Audrey Nathan had become a dear friend. They had played a couple for a short time, then realized friendship and companionship worked best. He’d taken a plane ride, rather than call. While Phil kept his secrets, he opened up about Clint.

“It’s simple.” She said it with such laughing sincerity, that it made Phil smile.

“What?”

“Take the moment.”

Phil must have had a dumbfounded look on his face. Audrey took his hand and held it.

“You’ll know it when you see it.”

Audrey then took Phil to a park near the Columbia River and bought snow cones.

‘Take the moment’ was loudly echoing in Phil’s ears when he kissed Clint. After that day in Clint’s apartment, there had been another thousand moments and Phil took every one he could even that last time they’d been together at P.E.G.A.S.U.S. They had a rare moment together in a janitor’s closet and afterwards they dressed, grinning at each other like schoolboys.

Phil slammed the tablet on his desk and went to the window. All hell had broken loose. The tesseract and Loki had ripped them apart from each other. Once he met up with Fury, the look on his face told the story. Clint was compromised and had disappeared with Loki. Despite urgent need to tear across the countryside in search of Clint, Phil had to put on his professional face and be Agent Coulson.

Then he was dead. Three months in a coma and another six months of recovery later, Fury sat across from Phil while he rehabbed in one of the most beautiful places on Earth. Tahiti. _What a fucking joke_ , Clint would smart off. It was that very project that had torn his life apart nearly causing him to lose his mind.

“You have to stay dead,” Fury told him.

It all made perfect sense to hear him tell it. Someone in the WSC had overrode Fury’s orders, sent a nuke at New York and were sending a contingent of Special Intelligent SHIELD agents to take command of the helicarrier and replace Fury as director. Phil knew 90% of what Fury knew. Only a handful of Level Sevens and above would know Phil Coulson still walked the planet.

Nick set a computer tablet and told Phil to pick a team. Without even looking at it, Phil named Clint and Natasha. Wouldn’t happen, he was told. They were Avengers and Phil, like an idiot, nodded.

Maybe it was the device that had remade his memories. Phil still couldn’t be sure, but he had gone along with staying dead despite the ugly knot that was growing in his chest at leaving Clint in the dark.

Once he was back at work, he got a hold of Clint’s psych profiles, his current and past missions. Phil, being the professional and loyal to SHIELD, concluded that Clint had moved on with his life. So, he had a team and he took to the air with Melinda May at the helm.

As Phil continued to gaze out the window, a hawk glided in the distance. He’d watch it sweep down then angle to move higher. It was at a distance, high above looking down on the world beneath it. Phil hated the animal.

He rubbed his eyes. They wouldn’t have much time to track Clint. Skye was damn good at her job. She’d find the hidden city quick enough and that would have to take precedence over Clint. They were in a race against Hydra. Phil hated his fucking job more than he’d ever hate that hawk soaring above him. 


	4. Chapter 4

Phil stood in the middle of the motel room Clint had lived in for over a month. The police had already been through it, but given how he had trained Clint, it was entirely possible something may have been missed. Bobbi and Melinda were checking known hiding spots.

It gnawed at Phil’s gut that Clint had sunken back into poverty and homelessness in order to hide. The guilt increased tenfold as he surveyed the yellowed walls, ratty bedspread and cracked ceiling tiles. He should’ve ignored his SHIELD professionalism for once and gone after Clint first and foremost.

Bobbi came forward with a small amount of cash, two passports and one fake ID.

“It was behind the tank of the toilet,” Bobbi said.

When Phil opened one, a single key dropped to the floor. Melinda already had it in her hand.

“It goes to a locker,” Melinda told him.

Phil opened the passports and sighed. “He wouldn’t have left this behind if he could help it.”

“So, Barton goes to work at the bar like normal,” Bobbi surmised. “He gets there and finds his boss dead.”

“No,” Phil answered in a low voice. “They knew about the bar, murdered the old man and waited for Clint.”

The scenario played out so easily in Phil’s head. Clint fought them.

“If Clint had gotten away, he would have made his way back here to get this,” Phil said holding the items. “It was Hydra. They have him.”

“You don’t know that, Phil,” Melinda firmly, reassuringly stated.

“I do know that, May.” Phil tightened his hold on the money, passports and ID. “This was all he had left to survive.”

“The key?” Bobbi asked.

“He stored his weapons and probably more money, ID’s in a storage locker somewhere away from here. It was his backup.”

“I’ll rattle some cages,” Bobbi told Phil. “See what falls out.”

After she left, Phil took a chair and failed to put to rest the ugly thoughts of Clint being tortured.

“Do you think he’s still alive?” Melinda asked.

“Yes,” Phil said so low that he wasn’t sure if she even heard him. “Loki was in his head. Hydra will want to exploit it.”

“To what end?”

Phil rubbed his eyes and the tears remained in place. “Possibly to replicate it, maybe get Asgard Intel, use him against us.”

“You mean against you,” Melinda corrected.

Then Phil looked at her. She could see it, everything Phil felt for Clint. “Maybe, if Hydra knows I’m director now.”

“Phil, you know what you’re saying, don’t you?”

“He’s been compromised again.” This time Phil’s voice cracked and the tears fell. _Fuck them!_

“We’ll find him,” May promised. She knelt and rested her hands on Phil’s knees. “We’ll find him and bring him back.”

Phil wanted to believe her so much that he nodded. He knew better than to hope this time around. If they did find Clint, he might have to be the one to kill him.

~*~

_“I keep a close watch on this heart of mine_   
_I keep my eyes wide open all the time_   
_I keep the ends out for the tie that binds_   
_Because you're mine, I walk the line”_

Towards the end of Clint’s training, he had been dropped in the middle of a jungle somewhere in Laos. Phil had said little other than it was survival training. What Clint hadn’t known was that Phil had told some goon-like SHIELD agents exactly how to capture him and keep him locked up, despite his three escape attempts.

The week before, Phil had told him about Vietnam POW’s and other prisoners tortured for information. His SO had one piece of advice that might help him survive and keep from talking. Distraction. It was a simple enough concept. They might attack his body, but it was his mind where the real war would be fought. Distraction could be the key to making it on the other side.

Clint loved rock of all kinds. Modern, hard, acid and most other forms, except soft. He had told Phil whoever came up with the concept of soft rock could suck his dick. He hated soft rock. But he loved Johnny Cash. Clint had every album and collected every video he could find. He’d even found a bootleg of one of Cash’s last concerts.

“Momma loved her some Johnny Cash,” Clint had told Phil.

It was no surprise that Clint knew the lyrics by heart. It harkened back to a memory of his mother humming “Ring of Fire” while baking a batch of cookies. Clint had sat on the counter and thought the best thing in the world was emptying both bags of chocolate chips into the bowl holding the batter.

Gazing at the awesome kaleidoscope of colors, his eyes still burning despite the drops Whitehall placed in them, his entire body racked with pain from lack of movement from days on end and the dehumanizing catheter stuck in his penis, distraction still helped. His throat was sore from lack of water even though the IV kept him hydrated. Still, Clint sang and he hadn’t broken.

_“I find it very, very easy to be true_   
_I find myself alone when each day is through_   
_Yes, I'll admit that I'm a fool for you_   
_Because you're mine, I walk the line”_

How many days has it been? Clint nearly asked, but that meant acknowledging Whitehall, needing something from him and that couldn’t happen. He was sure he really didn’t want to know anyway.

As Clint would sing, Whitehall talked, attempting to break into his distraction. He’d talk about all the SHIELD agents they’d killed. Then there were that many more who were already in their ranks and more who went to Hydra willingly. Whitehall named names and Clint hated that he knew so many of them. The fucker relished uncovering SHIELD for what it was, Hydra.

The next subject was the Avengers and Clint’s concentration had broken enough that he faltered through the verse. The Avengers were scattered, trying to clean up the mess SHIELD had left behind. The betrayals had cut so deep, teammates had turned onto one another. To prove it, Whitehall played a venomous argument between Steve Rogers and Tony Stark. It didn’t occur to Clint’s nearly broken mind that the recording had been faked.

Even though Clint couldn’t shed tears, he could hold back a sob as Whitehall caressed his face like a lover, the way Phil used to. There had never been a sexual move by Whitehall. The bastard was twisted enough to use whatever methods he could to break Clint’s fragile hold on sanity.

_“As sure as night is dark and day is light_   
_I keep you on my mind both day and night_   
_And happiness I've known proves that it's right_   
_Because you're mine, I walk the line”_

Was it another day? Clint wasn’t sure. Whitehall’s tie may be a different color. He had the shaving cream again. He was sure it was a new day since Whitehall was going to take the razor to keep the facial hair from growing. This was the fifth or sixth time. The cool foam felt good on his face, but he couldn’t keep his breathing even when Whitehall lifted the razor to his chin.

“I have news you may wish to hear.” Whitehall took a sharp swath on Clint’s cheek. “A smattering of disorganized former SHIELD agents attempted to rebuild the lie that was SHIELD.”

Clint’s breath froze when the razor was swiped under his chin.

“Of course, they failed. A lie cannot stand alone against the truth of Hydra. They had a quite predictable underground installation, a Fury creation, if I’m told correctly.”

Clint wasn’t going to listen to the bastard.

_“You've got a way to keep me on your side_   
_You give me cause for love that I can't hide_   
_For you I know I'd even try to turn the tide”_

He’d make the fucking song bring him back some clarity, get his head back on track. That and hope was all that he had left.

Whitehall’s words broke into his faint singing.

“It’s a shame, really. Such promising agents. They would have found purpose with Hydra and all it stands for. I’m told Natasha Romanov was the first to die.”

Clint started crying in earnest while Whitehall finished shaving him.

Clint wasn’t able to sing that last verse.

~*~

He used the Park Avenue viaduct. Wearing a long black overcoat, sunglasses and a matching cap, no one paid attention to the man that stopped at Stark Tower, and raised his shaded eyes to the top where the platform stuck out.

The doors slid open when he walked inside and the elevator waited for him.

“Welcome home, Agent Barton.”

“Thank you, Jarvis.”

His mission was clear and concise. Doubts had been cut from his mind as was the umbilical tying him to a past that was muddled and in disarray. Without entanglements, he was free from the lies and machinations.

“Would you like Mr. Stark and the remaining Avengers notified of your arrival?”

“Sure, why not?” He didn’t smile.

Keeping his hands in his pockets, Clint stood straight and certain as the elevator went to the common area. As soon as it opened, his hand gripped the USB hub in his pocket.

Clint stepped out seeing Steve coming towards him. He took out the hub and jammed into the port near the doorway.

“Clint, what are you doing?” Steve asked.

Seeing his approach quicken, Clint dropped the overcoat and swiftly had his bow out with two arrows aimed at Steve. He turned the bow 90 degrees and fired. The arrows each hit a shoulder, eliciting a painful scream from Steve.

Bruce Banner was already running at Steve and Clint yanked the concussion grenade from his belt, then tossed it in the general direction. He knelt as it exploded throwing Bruce back several feet. Glass shattered, cement crumbled, cracked and groaned and then smoke filled the room.

When Iron Man flew into the room, he raised a repulsor at Clint.

“Stand down, Barton!”

Clint already had a special arrow aimed at Tony Stark. It jammed in between the plates joined at Stark’s shoulder. Electric lightening exploded making Iron Man drop as if he was a marionette who suddenly lost his strings.

The low growl from across the room froze Clint in his tracks. The thick smoke was beginning to clear and he had little time before he made his escape. He set the quiver and bow on the floor before making his move. Clint sprinted to where he had put the USB hub, grabbed it and shot towards the platform.

The floor shook as Hulk barreled after him, and Clint made it off the ledge of the platform throwing himself as far as he could. Knowing Hulk as well as he did, Clint pulled the cord on the mini-chute and glided as a hawk would.

Hulk’s screaming roar could be heard across Manhattan and wasn’t far behind Clint. The leaps the green monster made across the sky were infamous. Clint used the steering lines to position himself and positioned himself above a building just in time to see Hulk coming at him, enraged with beefy fists ready to pummel him.

Clint yanked on the buckles and he dropped to the roof just as Hulk grabbed onto empty air flying past his position. He watched the rage monster begin an uncontrollable descent and hurried for the door not waiting to see what would happen next. 


	5. Chapter 5

It was just a little rumble this time, enough to rattle the models on the credenza behind Phil’s desk. He watched it shake and stilled hoping it would pass. Since coming back from San Juan, the entire team had been nearly done under by the dramatic events.

Antoine Triplett was dead. It was just as painful as when Ward had betrayed them. The easy smile, eyes so full of life, and endearing gentle voice had been taken away, and no one understood why or how. Phil had sat at his desk for two hours before writing the letter to Trip’s mother. He’d never hated himself more as he wrote a letter of love and lies to a woman who wouldn’t have a body to bury.

Phil had killed Whitehall, a bastard that couldn’t be dead enough, in his book. Skye had saved his life when her father was ready to unleash whatever it was he held inside. Now, she had somehow been exposed to something that had turned her into…what they didn’t know.

How Skye was managing to keep herself together, Phil didn’t know. The emotions she was working through caused the entire complex to rumble with dust filtering out from the concrete. She seemed to have a semblance of control, but May had explained it was because Skye wasn’t allowing herself to feel, to mourn, to cry for fear of bringing the cement on top of them. No one could gage the extent of her powers. Unleashing the torrent of emotions running through Skye was too risky which made him worry all the more.

Melinda May walked in without knocking and Phil stood.

“What happened?”

“She dropped a coffee cup.”

“Just that?”

Without blinking an eye, Melinda said, “It was Trip’s.”

“We’ve been back less than a week.” Phil rubbed his tired eyes. While everyone had mourned Trip in their own way, Skye couldn’t. The normally outgoing young agent with passion was being forced to bury the deep loss. She had isolated herself and too many around her were unsure of how to comfort her. “I don’t know what to do for her, May.”

“No one does. Skye’s never been one to hold back. She’s withdrawn and frightened.”

“If this was a mutant ability, Charles Xavior would be the first call to make. We have no idea what happened to Skye inside that chamber.”

“We’ll help her,” Melinda stated. “Being there for her is the best we can do at this point. Until Simmons can get a grasp on what changed her, that’s all there is.”

Being helpless was not something Phil was accustomed to. Act, don’t react, had been his own personal mantra from the beginning.

Billy Koenig stuck his head in the door. “Sir, there’s a problem.”

“What is it?”

Phil watched him close the door behind him and turn on the monitor hanging on the wall.

“I don’t know how he did it or even found us for that matter, but Tony Stark is hacking through our systems.” Billy stepped back.

The static picture slowly cleared and Tony’s face came into view.

“I’ll be damned,” Tony muttered. “You really are alive. I don’t know whether to beat your ass or kiss you on the mouth, Agent. Or is your first name Director now?”

“Stark, how in the hell did you find us?” Phil asked.

“You could’ve been a little less secretive about your secret message,” Tony stated with raised eyebrows. “You might as well just wrote, ‘hey Widow. Where the hell is Hawkeye? From Phil’. The conspiracy twitter-verse isn’t so crazy anymore.”

“If you think I’m going to congratulate you on your luck in finding us…”

“I’m not interested in busting into your not-so-secret club, Phil.”

Not much could rattle Tony Stark to warrant calling Phil by his first name.

“What happened?”

“You’re boy happened. He damn near took us all down, including the tower, and set the Hulk loose on Manhattan.”

Phil bit his inside cheek until he could taste blood. He couldn’t allow the turmoil to betray his normal unfazed demeanor.

“Barton.”

“He blew into the tower, cut a cloning virus on Jarvis, put two arrows into Steve’s shoulders and tossed a concussion grenade unleashing Hulk.”

“Deaths?”

“We had the fucking luck of the stars with us. Natasha got to Bruce before he could do any real damage, Steve will be on his feet in another week. I lost a damn good suit.”

“What are you and Banner doing in your labs?” Melinda asked. “Anything Barton got wind of that we need to know about?”

“You think this is our fault?” Tony asked, his voice growing hard. “SHIELD aka Hydra, used the tech I gave them hoping to do a round of assassinations! Maybe your toy soldier’s got a screw loose. It wouldn’t be the first time.”

“That’s enough!” Phil cut in. “Stark, you said something about a cloning virus.”

“That’s what I don’t get. It’s too sophisticated to come out of what’s left of SHIELD and they’d have to know the inner workings of Jarvis. The virus cloned itself and like the classic Ebola we know so well now, it used Jarvis’ systems to replicate, reassemble a better version itself and to keep going until he…”

Phil stepped to the monitor at seeing Tony rub his eyes and get a hold of his emotions.

“Tony, how is Jarvis?”

“Jarvis was so busy trying to fight it off that he essentially locked up like a goddamn PC. A worm program activated, dug through Jarvis’ guts for information. It mainlined to the internet and encrypted itself. Where it went, we don’t know. We’re still operating on Jarvis and hope to have him fully functioning in another week.”

“What did he get?” Melinda asked.

“We won’t know until the diagnostics are complete.”

“Barton was taken,” Phil said trying to keep his voice level. “There was a Hydra scientist by the name of Whitehall who perfected a brainwashing technique. He may have gotten his hands on Clint.”

“Where is this bastion of ethics?” Tony asked. “I kind of want to kill him right now.”

“I already did,” Phil answered. “He must have given instructions to carry out beforehand and there is no predicting Barton’s next move unless we know exactly what was taken.”

“The Avengers would be the ones to lower the boom on Hydra’s penchant for world domination.”

“And yet, here you are,” Melinda pointed out.

“She’s right,” Phil said. “If Clint wanted to finish the Avengers, he had the means with the exception of Banner.”

“We were never the target.” Tony rubbed his eyes.

“I need you to keep me in the loop, Stark. Barton’s my responsibility.”

“You’ll be the first.”

Phil turned off the monitor and kept his back to Melinda. It was almost the helicarrier all over again, only there was no Whitehall or Loki to free Clint from. He had failed Clint then, but he couldn’t now.

“What do you want to do, Phil?”

“Issue icers for every security team on perimeter rotation.”

“You think he’s coming here.”

“If he does, take him down with non-lethal force if at all possible.”

“If it’s not?”

“I’ll be the one to give the order, May. No one else.” Phil couldn’t talk about it anymore. “Dismissed.”

After the door was closed, Phil went to his desk, sat and opened the lowest drawer on his left. He used his thumbprint to open the small container. Phil pushed aside the Captain America trading cards he had reacquired and lifted a velvet case. Opening it, his breath hitched just a bit and the shiny gold bands appeared.

The arrangements had been made in Phil’s head. His apartment building had a terrace with a view overlooking the city. Clint’s favorite restaurant would provide the food. He was going to hang white lights to add to the ambience. Phil had been looking for the right music to finish it off. Somewhere between the end of the main course and before desert, with champagne, Phil was going to propose. He had laughed at himself when he bought the rings imagining getting on one knee.

Blinking back tears, Phil closed the case, set it back where he kept it, and closed it shut.

~*~

It was a surprise to get another call from Tony a few hours later. Phil attached a secured external hard drive to his computer and downloaded the files Tony gave him.

He found Skye in her computer lab, sitting on the tabletop, hunched over a laptop with her hair hanging down hiding her face.

“Mack keeps bringing me food,” Skye said without looking up. “He just brings it and doesn’t say a word.”

“He’d probably stop if you ate any of it.”

“Gotta want to eat.” Skye scooted off the computerized tabletop and stood. “Jemma said the nanobytes that infected Mack in the hidden city have dissolved in his system. He’s clean.”

Phil had nothing to say to that.

“I’m still testing normal. That’d be a laugh to everyone’s whose avoiding me every time I walk to my quarters.”

It was instinct for Phil to put a comforting hand on her shoulders. The room rumbled in response and she stepped away as if she’d been burnt.

“You can’t do that,” Skye warned trying to steady her emotions. “If you do, I – I won’t be able to control it.”

The hurt seemed to double in Phil’s chest. They needed one another to assuage the pain of the losses that overwhelmed them. Almost from the beginning, Skye and Phil had saved one another, comforted each other during the worst of the trials and tribulations of their lives. Not having it now, when they needed it the most, made the loneliness and anguish all the more pronounced.

Phil set the external hard drive on the tabletop.

“Tony Stark’s AI, Jarvis, was disabled during an incursion.”

“I heard. He was one of yours, right?”

“Yes. There is a program on the drive which will give you access to his systems. You’ll have to use retinal scans for access. Stark used yours for security purposes.”

“Mine?”

“Stark is still trying to put Jarvis back together. That’s where his focus is right now. If we’re going to learn why Barton attacked the Tower, I need you to dig around. With the exception of you, Stark systems are on lockdown until Jarvis is up and running.”

Skye picked up the drive. “Two weeks ago, this would have been the topping on my favorite ice cream. Being allowed to rummage around SI to my heart’s content is the dream of computer geeks everywhere.”

“He knows how good you are, Skye. Stark will probably have a job offer lined up for you on the drive.” Phil smiled a little. “He may have surveillance video of your one-time Cosplay to blackmail you with.”

Phil was sure she almost smiled, but it was gone in a flash.

“How much time do I have?”

“I’m not sure. Barton may already have what he’s looking for.”

“So, none.”

Phil nodded. Skye turned to her laptop and plugged in the drive.

“Thanks.”

“For what?”

“I can think about something other than what happened in that chamber with Trip.”

Phil didn’t know if that was a good thing or not. He went back to his office without saying a word.


	6. Chapter 6

Phil had lost track of time since his visit with Skye. The plate of food on his desk had grown cold while he read old mission reports from his time as handler for Clint and Natasha. No other team had been able to break their record for successful missions. Clint would saunter through the corridors with enough cockiness for all three of them. Phil missed those days.

He was surprised at seeing Skye hurry through the door with Melinda close behind.

“It’s only been six hours,” Phil pointed out.

“You won’t believe what I found.” Skye brought up a computer schematic on the flat screen. “We always knew Fury had loads of secrets no one else knew or had access to. I think we just found the mother lode.”

“What is it?”

“Fury had cloud storage and not just your state of the mill, either. He had data pools hidden across several classified servers. The CIA, NSA, Interpol, MI6 and a shit ton of world-wide superspy organizations. It’s like his own highway interchange system.”

“To what end?” Melinda asked.

“To hide and he hid a lot.”

Phil almost smiled. He hadn’t seen Skye this excited about her job in some time.

“There are stores of information, access to bank accounts, informants that weren’t on SHIELD’s official radar, secret facilities, research and probably more. I think what we have is just the tip of the iceberg. It’s like a maze of classified information and we’ve got the keys for it all.”

“Who could’ve known about this?” Phil got to his feet as Skye filtered through the images.

“No one, except Fury. The security protocols are what he used as director and there was only one retinal scan.”

“He always talked up keeping both eyes opens,” Phil remembered. “Fury always had a fallback.”

“Thing is, Coulson, the retinal scan wasn’t his.” Skye turned to Phil. “It was yours.”

“Mine?”

“It would make sense,” Melinda observed. “This was SHIELD’s backup and he only trusted one person with it.”

“How would Clint know about it?” Phil murmured.

“I don’t think he did,” Skye said. “SHIELD and Hydra intelligence were dumped on the internet when SHIELD fell. Barton had only one other logical place to look.”

“Look for what?” Phil asked.

“You, Coulson,” Skye answered. “I decoupled the worm program Barton used. He was sent to the Tower to get Intel on you.”

“To kill you, most likely,” Melinda said keeping her voice low. “Whitehall wanted to take you out and Barton was his chance.”

“Clint could’ve told Whitehall everything he knew about me,” Phil stated. He folded his arms, hiding his fists trying to grapple with the rage building inside. He wished he could kill the bastard again for using Clint against him. “Skye, we have to know if this has been accessed.”

“It hasn’t. Fury installed time sensitive nanobytes that would replicate trackers for ISP signals. I reprogrammed them. The second anyone attempts to infiltrate the data pools, I’ll know exactly where they are.”

“Good girl. May, get a team together and ready the jet. The second we know Barton’s location, we need wheels up.”

“And if he’s sitting in the middle of a hydra cell?” May asked raising an eyebrow.

“Not likely. Whitehall is dead. His people will have already relocated and they wouldn’t have been able to control Clint. It’s a risk, but one I’m willing to take.”

Skye shifted from one foot to another. “I can’t go, but I’ll set Bobbi up to GPS him when you get close.”

It was on the tip of Phil’s tongue to argue, but she was right. Until she had a better handle on whatever powers she was now instilled with, Skye was a liability. He hated it and before he could comfort her, Skye was already out of the room.

Phil went to his desk and noted Melinda’s stance.

“Are you going to tell me that I shouldn’t go? My emotions are compromised?”

“No. If there’s a way to reach Barton, you’re his best chance.”

“I might have to kill him. I’ve known it from the beginning, May.”

“You can give me the order, if you can’t do it.”

Phil sat and almost cried when he looked at May.

“I was going to ask him to marry me. We got called in for a mission to New Mexico and then it was P.E.G.A.S.U.S. I thought we’d have plenty of time afterwards. It’s too late now.”

“You don’t know that, Phil.”

“I know what Clint would want. After what Loki did to him, he’d rather be dead than to go through it again. If I can’t bring him back, I will be the one to kill him. It’s what he’d want, May.” Phil didn’t want to explain the reasoning. “Get the quinjet ready.”

When the door closed behind Melinda, Phil opened the drawer to his desk and retrieved the rings. Holding them in his hand, Phil went to his quarters. On the dresser was a simple gold chain. He threaded it through the wrings and hung it around his neck.

Phil loosened his tie and stuffed the chain and rings under his shirt. The cool metal felt heavy on his scars. It seemed strange to have them so close together, intimate. Maybe it was just as it should be. His life, along with Clint’s, had been torn apart, scarred not just physically, but emotionally as well.

No matter what happened, Clint and Phil would belong to each other.

~*~

How could he finish his mission like this? Clint had completed the first stage, gotten the Intel and made his way back here. Whitehall had been specific. Take his time coming back, stay off major routes and don’t contact anyone. Clint had followed his orders to the letter.

He came back to the very building where Whitehall had saved him and instructed him. No one was here. The entire place had been abandoned. It was littered with trash and burn piles in an attempt to destroy classified information.

Clint went to the top floor and Whitehall was nowhere to be found. He dropped his backpack and started searching through the drawers of the desk, cabinets and a closet for anything telling him where to find Whitehall. Nothing.

He stepped back, breathing hard, clenching his fists trying to get a grip on the growing panic.

Clint had a mission and he could not complete it. Without direction, he was lost, alone and his existence pointless.

Seeing the monitor on the wall, Clint went towards it. He remembered this. Pretty lights and colors. His head began hurting and Clint put a hand against the wall. That was when he saw the port. It would fit that USB hub he’d been given. Maybe he could find Whitehall himself.

Clint opened the backpack and took out the USB hub. He stuck into the port and when the program appeared, Clint slid out a keyboard. Some of it made sense, but at least now he had a start.

An hour passed, and Clint wasn’t any closer to beginning the second stage of his mission. He was having trouble accessing the files and his hacking skills were passable, but nowhere near as advanced.

He stilled when he felt something under his feet. It was a subtle vibration most people wouldn’t have felt. Clint’s ability to sense even the most minor of movements were notorious and there was no doubt a low flying plane was close. He knew the vibrations of a nearby quinjet.

Clint reached into the backpack and snapped open his recurve. He had his quiver across his back and an arrow ready to go. Just as he was going to stop through the double doors, the plate glass windows exploded with glass flying everywhere. Clint averted his face just in time.

Ignoring the small shards of glass in his arms, he aimed an arrow at the blonde woman who had already predicted his first move. She adeptly avoided it and was on him swinging steel batons. Clint knew the moves well and he avoided the hits easy enough, but she was nearly as good as Natasha. Using his bow, he fought and she stumbled back losing her footing.

Clint took advantage and rushed from the office. He caught sight of Melinda May headed in his direction. He remembered her and Clint was sure he wouldn’t escape after a fight with her. She was too damn good.  

He shot off in the opposite direction and skidded to a halt when Phil Coulson stepped out of a stairwell almost right in front of him. Clint lifted his bow and aimed an arrow straight at his lover intending to finish the mission to kill Phil Coulson.  

Then his world went black.

~*~

Phil walked over and looked down at an unconscious Clint.

“I was supposed to shoot him.”

Melinda put the icer on the inside of her jacket. “I had a feeling you’d be slow.”

Bobbi came over rubbing the back of her head. “He won’t hesitate to hit a girl, will he?”

“If you trained with Black Widow, of course not,” Phil answered. “Let’s get him on the quinjet. I want him cuffed at all times and kept sedated.”

“Do you think the programming can be broken?” Melinda asked.

“Jemma’s reports regarding this brainwashing technique were vague. We may have to resort to less than comfortable measures,” Phil informed them.

He knelt next to Clint, resisted the urge to cup his cheek. At this moment, he was not Director of SHIELD. He was Phil, the man who loved Clint.


End file.
